A realists Illusion.
New story! Ive been writing this for a while.. Let me know what you think! Prolog A realist illusion. By Skye. Prolog. So, today is the day. The day I scar myself, with a new tally. I take my boot off, and look to my ankle, I find three, fairly straight scars. Each now turned white, but I can still remember clearly when I embedded them into my skin. The first, With a sharp rock I chipped from what little I could find around the desert plains I was in. I remember the sun beating down on my forehead threatening to topple me over with unearthly exhaustion. I remember the weight of the sharp object in my hand, although being light, it felt much heavier with the weight of dread. Dread of not only cutting my skin, but the dread of marking my skin with the reminder that I spent the year in the series of illusions. Of admitting that, in fact, a whole year had passed that I could not find a way out. The second scar, at the very top of massive mountain, that I later named “Hell hill”. Not only because of the extreme height that would make my head spin, but because of the cold, in which was so obviously un-pre-pared for. Taking my shoe and sock off was torture in itself, the cold piercing my skin making me shake. Surrounded by snow, I scooped a handful of snow on the bleeding wound after cutting my ankle, right next to the last. It numbed me, both physically, and mentally. I was no longer with dread, or with pain, or even anger. I was simply numb, a whole second year had passed, and I had only become colder in every way. I tried to picture the last time I had smiled, laughed, even cried, with no successes. The last, was different to the other two. Both left me with feelings of negativity, but this time, I was almost happy. Not that I wasn’t still stuck in the illusion, but that I had company. Jake, holding the knife. “Close your eyes.” He said, I looked at him unsure. “I’m scared.” I said, I wasn’t really. I had done this twice, and I was used to worse pain then this. But around Jake, I had always felt as if I could pretend that I was a normal girl. One that was scared of pain, that needed a strong man to protect her from the ruthless territory. “Just close your eyes.” He says, smiling at me. Hesitantly, I did. “Imagine yourself back on your house boat, the cool breeze whips though you’re hair, and you can smell the fish you’re mother is cooking.” The images flash in my mind; I smell what I did all those mornings so long ago. “You can feel the warm yellow light burn a warm sensation on you’re face. You look into the crystal clear water to see below you bursting with color, the coral reef. Fish dance around the colors, just tempting you to jump in and dance with them. You hear your mother’s laughter, and the sound of your fathers smooth voice sing along to frank Sinatra. Everything is just how it should be, and you feel pure. You feel whole.” His voice has an entrancing affect that leaves me delicately dreaming. “Done.” He says, his voice with finality. I look up, and open my sleepy eyes, I have a pleasant smile on my face. But I notice that he is bandaging my leg with leaves. “Oh have you done it already?” I ask, confused. He smiles. “I didn’t notice.” I laugh. I touch the scars remember that moment tenderly. I have almost forgotten about what it is like to be home now. I almost had then, but I had Jake to remind me. Now? I only have me. Sometimes I get caught in the chase of fighting against the illusion, the chase of not being molded by the illusion gives me an Adeline in itself. But at times like these, where reality hits me harder in the face then usual. I’m left deflated. Of course, I don’t outwardly show it. I know very little about the illusion itself, only that it reads my actions and memories. So I try my best to remain impartial to all surroundings, and emotions. I sigh, and bite down on the stick to my left as I carve another strike into my ankle. It hurts, but only for a moment, after there is only a slight stinging pain. I put a leaf on it, and wrap around rope I made from tree vines to keep it in place. The blood seeps though it quick, but it doesn’t matter. Soon it will clot, turn to a scab, eventually heal, and turn into a small scar like the rest. This makes four years I’ve spent in the illusion. Four years to long. Chapter One: Memories Walking. Often it seems like the only thing I ever do. How long have I been walking this way? Down the previously made track. To my right, a lake, right now in winter its muddy and brown. But when the sun hits it, it is simply beautiful. However I rarely get a chance to look at it, I can not show any appreciation or feeling towards anything in illusions, For fear they will use that against me. Before that lake however, there is a layer of thick brown tree trunks which go up to about 100 meters before any greenery is seen. The kind of tree trunks that you would imagine in a robin hood novel. Round and soft looking, And look almost fairytale like against the green grass. Short, but beautiful. To my left you find fields and fields of green hills that roll on for miles. At night the sun sets behind them, and it is simply majestic. However the road I’m heading down leads to a thick forest. Covered with enveloping greenery, and dark, usual scary things. You go back four years, a scene like this would cower me into heading back. But, now, four years on, seen things that you could only imagine in your worst nightmares. I see the creepy landscape ahead of me as mundane. I trudge forward, entering the thick forest. I notice as the sun’s raise leaves me, only momentarily finds me amongst the foliage. Questions plague my mind, always have. I try to leave them, and focus on keeping to my image that I portray to the illusion. Indifferent, hard, strong, and unbreakable. However spending the better of four years alone, walking day after day, to nothing or no one in particular. With only the sun and the natural sounds of nature to company me, you can’t help but wonder. Wonder why you are here, or even how you got here? I still remember the day I arrived in the illusion. Just before I had arrived I had been driving into town with my big brother. He and I were close, closer then most siblings I knew. Especially since we had only each other for such a long time. Sure we had our parents, but they would travel the world together. Which was wistfully romantic for them, but often left my brother and I alone to look after the house. Although my brother and I enjoyed each other’s company. We realized we could not run a big house all on our own, I only fourteen, and Daniel sixteen. Eventually our parents paid enough attention to realize this, so they bought us a house boat. My brother and loved it more then we loved life. It was life. I took care of all meals, while he drove the boat, and fished. We lived on the fish we caught and the herbs we picked at the islands we would stop at around the Caribbean. The time not spent doing that, was spent playing guitar. We would sing at pubs and restaurants together, that earned us just enough money to keep us going once our parents long forgot about us. The music was our salvation. That’s how it often was, two guitars, and two voices, with a connection that only we, those four, understood. A love unexplainable, only though music was it expressed. Even now I wake myself with my fingers making chord shapes on my stomach, or humming a song. This particular day, we decided we needed to get some supplies in the city, so we borrowed a friends car, and went for a road trip. The city was a five hour drive, so we had plenty of time to chat, and sing together. I remember my feet propped up on the window seal of the passenger side, and the powerful wind whipping though my hair, while I sang a tune well known to both of us. I looked over to my brother, blissfully happy as I also was, until gradually. We were surrounded by white light, I barely had time to look out the window to see its origin, before it completely engulfed us, and I lost consciousness. I woke up on sand, as I sat up, I saw ocean in front, and swamp behind me. I woke up, scared, confused, but most of all. I woke up alone. Above me I notice a small fire, at first glance, I thought it was a bush fire designed to drive me to mania by the illusion. But upon looking closer, I notice that the fire is controlled. Around the dancing embers, and flames, is a circle of stone. I’m guessing designed to keep in within that circle. I relax my shoulders and keep on walking closer, I see a boy sitting at the fire. He must be about my age, seventeen, maybe eighteen. He has dirty blond hair, and his biceps flex as he puts more wood on the fire. Feeding it gently. I pay him little attention, although seeing another person, although as fake as the landscape, does stir my heart, however I look rock hard as I always do. I have uncounted this many times, a person. I remember they were in my third illusion. I saw a family going for a bush hike, I remember how excited I was to see them. Ten months I was alone, ten months of hearing nothing but my own humming, ten months of pure confusion. I could finally talk to someone, hear another person’s voice, and maybe even get some answers. I ran up to them, told them my name and how happy I was to see them. But they didn’t respond to me.. Infact, they didn’t even acknowledge me, my presence made no hindrance on there life. They laughed and joked about themselves as if I was not there. I screamed at them, got in there way. Tried anything and everything to get there attention, but nothing got there attention. I finally concluded that in fact, I didn’t exist to them. I screamed and yelled as tears ran down my face, I yelled at the sky. Begged for answers, in anger, frustration, in pain. I showed more emotion in that moment then I should have, but at that time I realized, that, that must be exactly what the illusion wanted. If it wanted nothing else, why not see how far it could push me? My theories were later confirmed. When I quickly showed no interest in its attempts to upset or excite me, it switched the landscape, And has continued to test me from that point on. I walk towards the boy; I let my eyes flicker past him. Then something happens, something that has happened only twice in four years. When I got close enough for earshot. He looks my way. His eyes find me, and he looks just as shocked as I must of. When I realize he notices and sees me, I stop in my tracks. He stands up, and grabs a stick close beside him. He pulls his body back as if a wind is blowing him away. He points the stick at me is if I’m an alien, or have an infectious disease. For the first time in a year, I hear another person’s voice, in a deep, weary tone he utters, “Who the hell are you?”